My Prison, My Home
by DanniAnoMaly
Summary: A story of a young patient of Monsieur D'Arque's, as she looks back at her past, and tries to plan a future inside of her cage. Hiatus/Indefinitely finished.
1. A Start

**_A Brief Note from Ms. AnoMaly,_**

_Thank you for choosing to read my story. I'll be quick with this message. This is my first fan-fiction that I've 'published'. I used to write for myself only, and thought I'd try something... Different. A little information about this story that should be useful, none, or very few chapters will be in chronological order. If you've read Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk(Also wrote Fight Club, Choke, etc.), it jumps around a bit like that. If you've never read Invisible Monsters, I highly recommend you give it a try(if you're over the age of 13. It's hard to appreciate if you're any younger than that). But now, I'm rambling. I'll leave you to read. Thank you, once again, and happy reading._

"Come, now!" he urged, pulling at the rope tied 'round my neck. Monsieur D'Arque trudged along mere inches in front of me. The woods were rather... ominous, or even more so, at night. A rather heavily muscled man with a broad jaw and his accessory, for lack of a better word, had requested the master's presence for a topic that I only heard bits and pieces of. I'd been cast off to sit alone after trying to bite the pudgy fingers of the lackey as he prodded me like a piece of meat. Master had been displeased lately, and rarely let me leave his side. Now, him walking in front of me, maybe a head and a half taller, he seemed like a calmer man. I grabbed at my bandaged wrist to keep from grabbing at his. Surely, he'd brought the whip and wouldn't hesitate to use it.

"Patient 66053, you're dawdling." he growled angrily. I jumped to attention and hurried up behind him, slightly noticing he'd loosened his grip on the rope. I wondered for a moment if he knew my name... Then strained to remember if I knew it. 66053. What a name. I lightly tapped at his back, wondering if he'd notice. He turned his head slightly, and I wrote out my question, shakily, on a piece of paper.""Your name?" he probed. "You're patient 66053. Your name doesn't matter". He tightened the grip on the rope, and I sighed regretfully.

Drawing closer to the carriage, something else peaked my interest. He'd completely dropped the rope. The cord dragged dejectedly behind me, and master seemed lost in a thought. Was he not afraid I would attempt to escape, even if I knew I hadn't the nerve? I picked the rope up, and tapped him again. Turning completely around to face me, I took his left hand in mine, and curtly tucked the rope back into it. Upon closing his hand again, I looked up at him to see if I'd angered him. His eyes bore into mine, full of confusion and control. I looked down sharply and continued walking in front of him. I stopped a few seconds after, to hear a faint falling behind me. He'd dropped the rope, again.. I wrote out "Master, I cannot escape. Nothing is left for a burden like me. If I go to town, I'll end up back in my own room at the asylum. Mother cast me away, I've no home. My friends, as well.. Master D'Arque, your asylum is all I have." I picked the rope back up and put it in his hand once more. I left my hand to linger on his. He seemed shocked. His hand was cold, and chilled through both sides of the skin. In contrast to the fiery temperature of mine, this felt natural. It felt good. But, completely wrong. I looked up at his face. Emptiness. He grabbed the rope, dropped my hand, and pulled with mild tension. "Come now... D.. Dannielle." I looked up. He nodded as he continued to pull. It didn't fit, it wasn't my name. "66053" I hoarsely whispered as we boarded our carriage to my prison... My home.


	2. A Prologue

The hunchback doctor stared directly into my eyes. They were cold and hard, much like his facial features. He was sickly thin, made of bone and not much else. He and mother sat on one side of the room, and I on the other. Mother looked at me dejectedly. Her only child was insane. What a hit this must have been to her self-esteem. I didn't care. I wanted her to burn for bringing me here. 'Is this torture for you, mother? I hope you suffer like I shall.' I thought bitterly.

"Miss Dannielle," the doctor began. He stood, and walked over to where I sat. He extended a bony hand. "I'm Monsieur D'Arque. I will be your supervisor for the duration of your stay here. I also own this asylum." He smiled half-heartedly, and looked at his hand expectantly. I looked up at him and glared. He caught my eye, and glared right back down. His eyes were filled with a fiery hate. I shook my head, and he dropped his hand to his side. He turned to face my mother, and faked a smile. Chuckling darkly, he stated "My, my. We are quiet feisty, aren't we?" He patted my head. How derogatory. My mother nodded solemnly. "Yes. She can have quite the attitude when she chooses. Doctor D'Arque, I'd like to discuss her case with you.. Privately." She spat out the last word like it was burning a hole into her tongue. "Yes, madam. Let me show young Dannielle to her room." He picked up my luggage, nodded at me, and proceeded to walk out the door.

I stood and looked at my mother. Pulling out my pad and pencil, I scribbled a note quickly, tore it out of the book, and threw it in her direction. She picked it up, and read out loud, "Mother, if I could speak, I would lose my voice again screaming at you for bringing me here. I hate you. Don't come back for me." She looked up at me, and curtly said "I had no intentions of doing so." I held her gaze for a moment longer before I stormed out to follow the doctor.


	3. A Past

I lay on the bed, face on the mattress, waiting for Monsieur D'Arque to return from his final words with mother. I scowled at the thought of her. That woman. Surely a true mother wouldn't abandon her child under circumstances like this. And to assure she wasn't coming back. The hate radiated from my skin, my organs, my blood. I flipped onto my side, and started to pick at the stitching on the ratty pillow. The room had a rather inscrutable feel to it. The walls were covered in a chipped black paint, as were the floors. The bed was an off-white with a burgundy throw placed at the foot of it. I rolled over onto my other side. My red luggage had been neatly placed on the opposite wall, just as he'd left them...

"_So, tell me, Dannielle. Why is it that you think you're here?" D'Arque asked, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I pulled out my notepad and pencil. He nodded understandingly, and stopped while I scribbled out my guess. When I'd finished, he took the notepad, and read through the note a few times. I watched as his eyes darted across the page, glance at me, and focus on the page again. He shrugged, and handed me the pad back to me. "I suppose if you truly feel that way about your mother. However, she is not the reason you're now under my care." He continued walking as he spoke, and I followed. After a few seconds in silence, he spoke again. "Can you talk, my dear?" I shook my head. He stopped at a door, unlocked it, and walked inside. "Do you know why?" I nodded, and scribbled my answer on my notepad. I handed it to him when I'd finished. He mumbled out the words as he read the paper. "I'd suffered from an unknown illness recently that left me with the inability to speak. I miss hearing my voice sometimes." He nodded. He set my luggage down, and turned on his heel to walk out the door. "I shall return momentarily." He said, and left, closing and locking the door behind him. And took my notepad with him._

I sighed. It was the only sound that could remind me of how my voice once sounded, and even in this new environment, it sounded unfamiliar. How I wished for my voice. I wasn't too sure as to how I'd fallen ill to begin with. All I could vividly remember was that mother brought in a doctor while I was on my sickbed. After he'd examined me, he called my mother into the room, and sat her down. He told us that I'd slowly lose my voice. My ability to talk. To laugh. To sing. In that moment, my dreams of singing were crushed on the spot, and so was my heart. Singing was a passion for me. I did it always. When I was happy, sad, unsure. I wanted to sing for an audience one day. That was my dream. Sure, mother had never approved, but it was nice to have a dream to be away from the town. But as the months passed and as my voice got weaker, I gave up my dreams. I stopped talking. I didn't smile, or laugh. And I forced myself to stop singing. The doctor said to enjoy my voice while I had it, but what was the use? I'd just be more disappointed when it was completely gone. So, I practiced my future. Complete silence. Then, I began to feel my sanity deteriorate. The built-up emotion tearing down my inner walls. Mother never noticed as I sank deeper into an ultimate sadness. "Merely a side effect of the illness." The screaming in the night. Side effect. The dejection from losing the only thing that gave me hope of leaving. Side effect. It was always the illness, or the medication. At least, it was until I stopped eating. I'd sneak around, and put the food in a hiding place for whoever found it. I used her good fountain pens to carve messages of hatred for myself and my surroundings in my arms. I secluded myself so I'd never have to see what I thought I'd be subjected to for the rest of my life. Now it was my fault, and she easily pinned the blame on me. Now we had to visit a friend of hers. An old colleague of a friend. Now, I belonged to Monsieur D'Arque.


	4. An Intruder

I sighed as I closed the door to my room. It hadn't been this pitch-black at night since I'd arrived, and I _still_ didn't know exactly where my bed was placed. I wanted so badly to just fall onto my bed and sleep. I thought I'd lit a candle, or something before I'd left. Yes, I was pretty sure I did. Or maybe I didn't? It was so hard to remember lately, as the days were only separated by the setting sun in my mind. I had started to light candles before I left my room lately, and it did wonders for my sore feet. I'm sure the asylum nurse was tired of seeing me, complaining of pain in my feet because I'd accidentally walked into the nightstand, or cut my foot on the bed frame. But tonight… Well, something seemed eerie about my room, sort of an out-of-place feeling. I couldn't really put my finger on it, but something wasn't right. I felt back on the door to find the handle, thankful that I was too lost in my thoughts to step forward and risk spending another night with the nurse, and proceeded to walk to my right, feeling against the wall with one hand, and blindly swinging the other, hoping to find some furniture **before** I walked into it. I found the dresser without a problem after a few steps, and inched past it slowly, but as I got closer to the first corner in the wall, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I heard a noise that sounded like a stifled cough, like the kind mother used to do when we were out if she was trying to get my attention. A 'let's leave, NOW.' or a 'Mind your business' noise. But this... This was much quieter. Something I wouldn't have heard if I hadn't been in complete silence. Now, I was terrified. Someone was in here with me, but how did they get in? The only person with a key to my door, other than myself, was Master D'Arque, and he never came in without some form of prior consent or warning. There was no way to try to calm myself down. Unless my body was suddenly capable of noises like that, without me feeling or hearing it come from me. I slowly started to walk backwards to the dresser, while trying not to make a sound. I didn't need my intruder knowing where I was. My candles were there, and right now the most important thing was seeing who'd gotten into my locked room, but something in me tried to talk me out of this plan. 'You're going to give up your position! Think this through!' I couldn't listen to myself. I was too wrapped up in trying to find the dresser. Finally, I felt the corner again, and started to slowly run my hand over the top of the dresser, looking for a match and a candle. I found the candlestick after a moment, and slowly lit a match. My hand shook, and it hit me that I wouldn't be hiding under the cover of night much longer. The floor creaked softly and I heard the faint _tap...tap...tap _of shoes behind me. I shuddered. I wished so badly that I could scream, or say something. The sound got closer, louder. I could hear faint breathing. The timing matched with mine, and I had to stop to reassure myself that I wasn't alone, holding my breath and trying to get a different pace going for mine. My intruder noticed what I was trying to do, and matched with the sound of my breathing each time. I felt my heart pound in my chest. I didn't have a lot of time. Closer and closer, my hand was almost to the candle. With every half-inch I got to the candle, the footsteps got half a sound louder, and the breathing soon became much louder than mine, drowning me out. The sounds echoed off of the walls, angering and scaring me. I had to face whatever waited for me, and there was only one way to do that. My hand flew to the candle, lighting it, and I spun around quickly, just as the person had come up behind me. It was… A darkness flooded my senses. There was a needle in my neck, and I could feel a warm liquid spilling into my veins, lulling my body to sleep. A cold hand held my neck in place as the last of the liquid left the syringe. I felt the consciousness leave me. The last thing I could remember was falling into someone's arms, and the cold hand that had been holding my neck, was now stroking my hair.

I awoke in an unfamiliar room. The smell of lavender was overpowering, and it calmed me, almost throwing me back into my sleeping state. I forced myself awake, and started to examine my surroundings. I looked to my right arm. I was chained down to a rather soft bed. There was fresh gauze wrapped around my right wrist, and my left, as I looked to see if that side was chained down as well. Blood was starting to soak through, and I tried to remember the last time I'd harmed myself. I soon gave up, and focused again on the problem at hand. The shackles seemed to go off and under the bed. I tried to move my arms, hoping there'd be some give to the chains. No luck. I was stuck on my back. I looked down to my feet. They were free, but all of the gauze and bandages that covered them were gone. Fresh cuts, blood glistening in the light as it ran down my feet, onto my ankles where it pooled up, staining my skin. I shuddered, knowing for sure that I hadn't done anything to harm the lower part of my body lately. I looked up at the ceiling, hoping for some sort of clue as to where I was, and saw a giant chandelier. It was on, illuminating the room and giving it a middle-of-the-day sort of feel. The ceiling surrounding the magnificent blaze was painted a rather bloody red color, with pictures too small for me to distinctly make out etched into it. There was an arch to the ceiling, giving it a church sort of feel. I looked to my left. I saw a few paintings of people suffering. Women, men, children with unique diseases, wounds. All malnourished, dying. I didn't feel shocked. I'd seen so many here that looked the same. I've watched children younger than I ossify, without so much as a cheek turned. These images were just normal to me now. The walls were a slightly more royal red than the ceiling, but still had a bloody feel to them. A bit above my head was an IV, with a honey-colored liquid dripping from the bag into the needle in my arm. There was a large window a bit farther off than the IV, but there were black curtains covering it, keeping out the sun. My mind started racing with questions. 'What day is it?' being the first thing to pop into my head, and the easiest to answer. I honestly had no idea. I tried to think back to what I'd remembered. 'What day was it when I'd been taken?' I didn't even have an answer to that. I remembered having kept a record in my room, starting the day I'd arrived, but that was of little use to me now. Well, it couldn't have been THAT long. Maybe 7 or 8 hours, at the most...

And besides, someone would have to come get me sooner or later… Right?


End file.
